A certain waiter kept catching her eye. Slim and small, he skated from table to table, smoothly picking up and putting down, counting back change, and reciting specials as if gliding through a cloudfooted dream. She checked again. No skates. Sleepwalking? No, sleep dancing, his face as calm as a ballerina’s. She’d never seen anyone like that.

Beyond the window lay what Stan had pointed to as they bickered in the parking lot. A smelly cheese man had flown a plane from there across an ocean for the very first time. Then someone kidnapped his baby and killed it. Now it was a bunch of shopping malls.